Cake
by witwit8
Summary: Gail's a chef. Holly's on a blind date. It's funny how things work out.


You're trying really, really hard to pay attention the woman in front of you.

Like, really hard.

Because she's beautiful and smart and nice and you should. You should like her. You have every reason to for all of the reasons mentioned before and also because she's a friend of your best friend and if you didn't at least try, well, Rachel would be pissed at you and so- you can do this, right? You should.

So, you let her ramble on about her job (she's a fucking human rights lawyer, Holly) and nod along and laugh when you think you should and for a while, it's manageable.

If a little boring. But still. You could do this.

A few more moments of her soft voice and then you're saved from your thoughts with the arrival of the meal you'd ordered almost an hour before. It made you feel a bit like a jerk, but this- the food- had been one of the things you'd most been excited about in the first place when the woman before you had texted you to set up the date. You had been surprised at the woman's ability to get a table at the hot restaurant in downtown Toronto in the first place. It had just opened six months prior and had already been receiving tremendous buzz- the rumblings of a Michelin Star level chef coming in from L.A. helping the mystique and you'd been eager to try the food. Your other best friend, Lisa, had been twice and couldn't stop talking about it. That, and the "hot- like other level hot" chef that was apparently knocking even the most cynical of foodies out with her "new Italian" cuisine.

So, it had been the pressure from Rachel and your curiosity about the restaurant that had really played the biggest part in your acceptance, albeit a little reluctant. So, you tried to focus. On the food, on the woman in front of you, who talked about work and home and smiled slightly at you over your Lasagna.

With a quick smile at your date and a shake of your head and a thank you to the waitress as she asks you if you need anything, you grab your silverware and tuck into the pasta- and almost moan at the first bite. It is, without a single doubt, the best thing you've ever had.

You savor the bite, closing your eyes, before you take another and another, marveling at the taste. So enraptured are you by the dish, you hardly even notice when a foot slides against your calf beneath the table. You jolt and try not to choke against the food in your mouth.

Your eyes skit over to the woman- Joanna- across from you and she looks at you with a smirk. Your stomach bottoms out because for some reason this is just a- no- situation and you can't find it within you to even play along. So you smile weakly and make an even weaker excuse for the bathroom, getting up and trying not to longingly look at your delicious dinner.

It's when you're in a dark hallway that you realize you don't actually know where the bathroom is and you curse, turning toward a door with light spilling out of it. As you get closer, you realize it is not, in fact, the bathroom but the kitchen. Another curse and you begin to turn but then- something catches your eye. A blonde something. A tall, blonde something in a white jacket and a similar hat that makes her look a little bit silly but also a little bit dignified at the same time.

You don't see her completely- just her profile- and part of you is thankful because even that- even without the full on view of what you can only assume is a ridiculously gorgeous face- she is breathtaking and it is hard to look away.

You tell yourself that staring is wrong but your brain is sort of skittering in a lust fueled panic and trying to put the pieces together and it's about the time that you realize that this is who Lisa was talking about that the woman- the chef- turns and looks full on toward you and you're frozen, you really are, because you were right. She's breathtaking.

And you're stuck gaping at her and she's furrowing her brow at you for a moment before that gaze is softening- and God, t is so, so blue- and then she's smiling at you- well, smirking, really- and turning back to her task but also flitting her gaze back to you every few seconds, her hips now moving with the muffled music you can hear flooding through the back of the building.

A few more long moments of watching as she tosses some pasta, getting enveloped by the steam from the dish.

It's the "order up!" that finally jolts you from your stupor and with one last look, you slip away toward the lobby, catching a hostess on the way out and outright asking where to find it.

When you, do splash water on your face and tell yourself to focus.

When you make it back to the table, your date is all smiles and flirtatious words.

You finish your meal with a forced smile on your face, blue eyes in your vision every time you close your eyes. The rest of the meal is spent in almost silence as she maybe runs out of things to say and you are really unable to do anything except think about the woman you've just seen and you feel bad about it for a few long moments before that evaporates because she is once more sliding her foot up and your leg and nope, nope, nope- and you go to say as much but then- then the waitress is there and she is looking at you and smiling her own slight smile and placing something in front of you- it looks like a cake of some kind- and you're furrowing your brown and saying "but I didn't order this" but the waitress is waving you off, and telling you "compliments of the chef" and you're gaping and trying to look anywhere but at your date whose foot has moved back but whose lips are now, you know, twisted a little bitterly and that's when you see her.

The chef- the one from the kitchen- looking through the slots of the window that sees through to the kitchen, looking at you. You try to fight the smile but you lose when you look down at the plate. And yeah, it's beautiful and chocolate and, again, sort of too beautiful and lovely looking to eat at all- but it's what is written- yes, written- in chocolate sauce at the bottom of the plate that makes your mouth finally stretch.

'Hi.'

It's simple. Sweet. An acknowledgement of your earlier encounter.

It is delicious.

And after- after Joanna asks for the bill and tries (and fails) to talk you into a night cap at her place- after, you're left in front of the restaurant and watching as her cab drives away. You're left to think about calling your cab or walking the handful of blocks to your apartment and try not to think about the strange encounter you've just had with a woman you'd never spoken to. And just when you're opening the app on your phone to call a cab, there's a commotion behind you and you turn to see the waitress from earlier, napkin in hand.

"Miss?"

She's speaking and you're confused.

"Miss- you forgot something."

You're opening your mouth to negate her claim when she's thrusting the napkin into your hand. Without another word, she turns and walks back inside.

You look at the fabric in your hand. It says something.

"I get done at 11. Meet me at the back? Chef Gail."

Your stomach drops out. You glance at your watch. You make a decision.

An hour later, you're lingering at the back door of the restaurant, heart in your stomach and slightly skeeved out at the look of the alley. After you'd been standing in that dark alley for a few moments, the door opens. And in the backlit frame, you see her.

No longer in the white coat and hat but in a pair of well fitted jeans and a t-shirt, her arms exposed and bare. And she smiles but what you are captivated by is what appears on those now bare arms.

Because she's covered in tattoos and you're just now seeing the glint of a nose ring hoked into her right nostril and you mouth goes a little dry because you never thought you liked that sort of look but there's something about it on her that leaves your knees a little weak and you mind a little wanting and-

"Hey."

Her voice is soft and-nice.

"I- didn't think you'd stay. Or come back, or whatever. I'm- I'm sorry if I caused any problems with the person you were with- I didn't think, and then-"

You shake your head and put a hand on that glorious, brightly colored forearm.

"Hey, no. First date. Wasn't into it. So- I guess I should- thank you for saving me from it? Sort of?"

She ducks her head.

"Well- in that case. You're welcome. You can pay me back with your company. I've just gotten done eating but I was thinking I wouldn't mind a little dessert and a glass of wine. You game?"

Jesus Christ, yes, you are. But-

"Hey, now. What kind of woman you think I am? Inviting me in without even introducing yourself?"

She laughs and you are a little taken.

"So rude of me- sorry. I'm Gail Peck. I own this place and happen to sell people food. And- you are?"

You smile and jut your hand out.

"Holly Stewart."

She takes it and her hand is warm and solid and a little calloused but- nice.

"Nice to make your acquaintance, Holly Stewart."

She doesn't let your hand go.

"Now that that is out of the way- onto the wine."

She only lets go of your hand once you're stepping by her as she hold the heavy door open. You try not to look back at her as you feel her eyes scanning your every move. The smile, when you fail and meet her eyes, is more than worth it.

* * *

She's funny. And smart. And a little mean.

You laugh into your glass of wine- your third- before taking a bite of something that Gail had whipped up in like twenty minutes that is too good for words and look at her with affection.

It's been almost two hours and you know you have to get up early tomorrow for your shift but it's hard to think about that when you're listening to her talk about her life before- when she'd been a cop, when she'd been abducted and then decided she just couldn't do it anymore- and after, using her savings to go to culinary school and open this little place and how her parents had basically disowned her as a result and you were enchanted by it all. And you're marveling a little at her tenacity and strength and trying not to think about the way her lips look when she's smiling when she glances at her watch, frowning.

"Shit," she's muttering, "I didn't realize it was so late. I'm sorry, Holly. You probably have to be up- early, right? I'm an asshole."

But you're shaking your head even as you're rising out of the chair and grabbing the plate of half-finished dessert as she grabs the empty wine glasses.

"Hey- no. Seriously. This has been- really, really nice. Don't apologize. I can deal with a little tired if it means that I get to do- this."

She gives you a look that leaves your cheeks red. You distract yourself with the plate and follow her into the kitchen. A few long moments of silence as you wash the plate, wash the glasses, and she dries, putting them away. When you've finished your task, you spin only to find her right in front of you, your name on her lips.

You answer with a gulp and a light and inquisitive, "hmmmm?"

"I should probably close this place up but, uh- I was wondering if you'd like to walk me home? I don't live far. I could call you a cab from there, or-"

The yes leaves your lips before you can even really register the question.

You watch as she flicks the lights off, closes the blinds, and locks the door.

She's beautiful shrugging into the coat that you hold out for her to shrug into.

You're out the door with her beside you and contemplating whether or not it would be too forward for you to put your hand in hers when she stops and turns with a soft smile on her face.

"Thank you."

You turn to her with a question on your lips when you see her gesture toward a door right next to the front door of the restaurant. Your stomach sinks even as a small smile comes onto your lips in realization.

"You live- here? Above the restaurant?"

She laughs and ducks her head.

"Yeah, well- I own the building. Seemed kind of stupid to rent a place when I could just convert the top into an apartment."

You nod to yourself. It makes sense, even if it is a little disappointing that this is the end of the evening.

"So- I was wondering- I know you have a regular person job- well, a sort of creepy one- but that you have normal hours and everything and please, if this is too much or if it's too late, let me know- but I was wondering if maybe you'd like to have a night cap up at my place? I have much better wine at the house than I do at the-"

You're nodding and she's smiling and unlocking the door. She's opening her hand and grabbing yours and leading you up the stairs and-

The wine at her house is better than the stuff they had downstairs.

And the conversation? It's better because you're both slightly tipsy and your cheeks are warm and you're giving right back as good as you get when it comes to the banter and her flirty remarks.

And when it gets to be too much and she's on her couch with you, knee to knee, her hand on your forehead, brushing a piece of hair out of your eyes- when it gets to be too much- you can't help yourself and you take the glass of wine out of her hand and put it where you had just placed your own- and t hen your cupping your hand around her cheek and taking in her parted lips and kissing her and kissing her and letting her tongue into your mouth and moaning at the taste of bitter grapes and the young woman whose hands are pushing into your hair and pressing you into the cushions.

When it's all said and done and you're panting and pulling a small blanket over your bare and slightly laughing forms, you look at her and drift a hand down her arm, her shoulder, her cheek.

She slips her hand down your spine, cups the back of your neck and draws you into a kiss.

"That was- unexpected."

She's breathing into your mouth and you're nodding your agreement.

"Unexpected but not unwelcome. Totally wouldn't mind doing it again."

She kisses you again, softly.

"Yeah?"

Her hand drifts lower down your body, drawing a gasp from your lips.

"Yeah."

She smiles and drifts her lips down your collar bone.

"I wouldn't mind doing this- all of the time."

The words are soft and if they hadn't been against your skin, you wouldn't have registered them. You draw her face up to yours.

"Yeah?"

You words are soft. You stare into her eyes.

"Yeah."

You both ignore how the words break.

"I- I'm not good at- this, usually. I have a weird schedule. Late nights. I don't want to-"

You cut the words off with your own lips.

"I work with dead bodies. I think I can handle a little weird."

She laughs. Her hand continues to move.

"And plus- I'm thinking that if I do get upset about your job? You can probably cook your way out of it. Way to my heart is definitely through my stomach. And Jesus- that lasagna? Best thing I've ever tasted. We can figure this out."

Her eyes are soft, her words teasing after a slight pause.

"The- best thing you've ever tasted, really?"

Your cheeks flush as you think back to what she's referencing, mere moments ago. You clear your throat.

"One of the best things."

She beams.

And all of this is a little strange but you're content and full and happy and totally taken with the woman in front of you and everything a future with her- and with her food, your stomach agrees, could have to offer.


End file.
